


1. Tub

by bluebirdcastiel



Series: Hunters Who Hunt No More [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-01
Updated: 2013-09-01
Packaged: 2017-12-25 07:21:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/950274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebirdcastiel/pseuds/bluebirdcastiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At heart, Dean Winchester is quite literally full of love. </p><p>Sam goes on a hunt alone, leaving Dean home with Castiel, wondering who he is now, if not a hunter, or Sam's protector?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tub

**Author's Note:**

> {{ A tiny ficlet to introduce myself to the archive. This is my first work posted here and I would very much like thoughts and feedback and whatnot, thank you lovely humans <3 }}

At heart, Dean Winchester is quite literally full of love. Having cradled his soul through the bowels of hell, Castiel is well aware of this, adores it in fact, thinks it Dean’s most underrated quality. It baffles Cas how Dean doesn’t see it, how people can buy into his casual demeanour and not see how he has a desperation to care running through every fibre of his being, bubbling under his skin beneath the cocky persona he wears on top. His very soul is comprised of love and self-doubt and Castiel has made it his mission to prove to Dean that he deserves to be cared for as much as anyone else. 

Since the start of their affair, Cas has savoured every moment of physical contact with Dean, the relationship unlike anything he’d ever experienced before, his virginity being far from only technical as he had never so much as held hands with a human before Dean. He felt every touch as if it were the caress of a flame and would stare at his lover for hours without ever growing tired of the sound of his breathing, the profile of his sleeping face. It was, frankly, pretty damn cliché and Dean found it outwardly sickening, though he would never explicitly tell Cas to stop because he privately adored the affection. In fact, privately, Dean felt very much the same. With his utter lack of social courtesy or knowledge of social norms, Cas was absolutely honest about every aspect of his love for Dean; he professed it daily, at every chance he got, called Dean ‘my love’ and ‘my darling’, told him he was beautiful after sex when he was all sleepy and serene and would stroke his arms or his chest or the lowest part of his back no matter whom they were in company with. Dean, on the other hand, grew self-conscious very easily, found himself blushing a deep red whenever Cas said those things, whenever Cas touched him in public. It wasn’t at all that he didn’t like it, hence the lack of requests for such things to stop, but Dean was so aware of the eyes on him, how unconventional they were as a couple, especially for the renowned woman-lover Dean Winchester himself. Dean’s displays of affection were much less obvious, not quite as loud or as public, though not once did Castiel doubt that Dean loved him every much as he did Dean. It was only in the dark, at first, that Dean could really allow his thoughts to flow to his lips; only in the darkness, wrapped around one another and utterly bare could Dean tell Castiel that he loved him, that he adored him and wished to spend his life by his side. Only when night had fallen and Cas had his eyes closed, dozing in the passenger seat, could Dean whisper how gorgeous he was and how Dean had a hard time concentrating sometimes when Cas was always there with his baby blue eyes and messy hair. And sometimes, when he’s feeling particularly abuzz with his love, Dean will touch him in public, just softly, discreet, a hand on his waist while they wait for their order to arrive or a little kiss on his cheek if no one’s around and they’re walking somewhere. 

Today, Castiel is taking Dean’s love and is showering him with his own in return. It’s Dean’s second most underrated trait, Cas thinks, how much Dean craves love, also. He knows that Dean despises that part of himself, thinks himself needy and pathetic for needing a constant confirmation that those he cares for care for him too, that he is not alone. Castiel thinks this a wonderful trait to have. He has said so, one evening while they watched a movie in which Audrey Hepburn kissed a man in the rain, told Dean that he was loved and that he was allowed to ask for affection, when he needed to. Dean had blushed, predictably, had shook his head as if it meant nothing, but Castiel was an expert in Dean Winchester mannerisms and thus knew that his words had had some impact. Days later, Cas awoke early and went to make coffee, a lone, naked figure wandering the dusty halls of the bunker at the break of dawn, leaving Dean snoring softly in their bed, warm and pliant in his slumber. As Cas watched the kettle rattle and yawned himself into wakefulness, Dean emerged, walking up slowly behind him, never touching, until he sighed and Cas turned to face him.  
‘Dean?’ he said, attempting and failing to catch Dean’s eye. Dean met his gaze after moments of internal battling and looked sheepish when he said;  
‘I don’t like waking up and you’re not there,’ in such a small voice that Cas’s heart hurt a little just hearing it. Cas smiled and wrapped him up in his arms for a small while, tucked Dean’s head beneath his chin while the kettle boiled behind them. They went back to bed and Cas promised not to get up without waking Dean first, in future. After that Dean began being much more open with his desires for affection; he would ask for a hug if he felt down or was fretting and would tuck himself into Cas’s arms on the couch of an evening when he needed closeness for a while. It pleased Castiel very much. 

As stated, this is a day for Dean, in Cas’s mind, and as such they are both in the bathtub in a haze of hot water and steam and Dean is lying in his arms, between his legs in the tub, back pressed up against Cas’s chest so his head can rest on his shoulder and Cas can kiss his temple and his ear sometimes, whisper that Dean is beautiful and that he loves him with all of his heart. Dean had been quiet all day, reserved somewhat, after Sam had gone off on a hunt all alone, claiming that Dean wasn’t needed and that he could see how happy Dean was back at the bunker anyway, with Cas. Dean had tried to insist on accompanying him but it was obvious to everyone that Dean was, in fact, more comfortable making dinner and reading to Cas while they took naps in the afternoon than killing things and hunting angry fallen angels, such was the hunting profession nowadays. Castiel, anyhow, was certainly not up for encountering his fallen brothers at this stage and there was no way in hell that Dean was leaving him alone all day and night to hunt the very thing that haunts Cas’s dreams. As such, they are in the bath and Sam is gone. Dean is unsure how to deal with his current lack of will to hunt, the prospect of domesticity being so much better suited to him now that it’s somewhat available is scary for someone who has never had any form of a steady home life at all. He turns a little in Cas’s arms, fears and worried confusion sloshing around inside him like melting ice, the heat of the water washing over his collar bones, warming him like a blanket in the winter. Cas kisses him and sighs, silent as dust though somehow profound with his lips against Dean’s hair, long gentle hands tightening around his chest, stroking his skin beneath the water, sending light ripples across the pool of bubbles and water in which they lie. There is a tightness in Dean’s chest and his knuckles brush the side of the ivory bathtub when he turns, almost onto his side, Cas’s body beneath him keeping him afloat and able to breathe while he does so. A hand comes up to stroke Dean’s back, his skin silky with the water against him, just gentle little strokes up and down his spine while Cas’s other hand remains steady against his chest, holding him, so that Dean can let go and no longer has to secure any part of him against the tub. 

His body sinks while his head stays afloat, the warmth covering enough of him that the cold never makes him shiver because Castiel is holding him up and he has no fear of drowning now, no matter how tight his chest is or how many tears are stinging his eyes through fear; who is he now, if not a hunter, if not Sam’s protector? He is but Cas’s lover, that’s the only thing he knows, and he’s so damn lucky that Cas will never let that be all that he is because Dean is content to simply hold on and avoid the breathlessness that comes with being alone. But no, Cas wouldn’t allow that, he cares far too much. Cas will make sure that Dean relaxes into himself, will push him to find his newfound ‘norm’ and greet it with acceptance; no more fears of drowning, not ever, and they’ll be lovers and in love but that won’t be all that they are.


End file.
